


Its always something, its never nothing

by Bubblemage



Series: Soulbound [3]
Category: Archie Comics, Archie Comics & Related Fandoms, Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Platonic Soulmates, Romantic Soulmates, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-28
Updated: 2017-09-28
Packaged: 2019-01-06 08:49:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12207879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bubblemage/pseuds/Bubblemage
Summary: His father told him once that love was a horribly destructive thing. Not at all gentle; and sometimes gritty and possessive. That it was like teeth; not meant to be careful or gentle at all.He doesn't love Veronica Lodge he reminds himself. He resents her and wishes he could remove her stupid words from his skin.





	Its always something, its never nothing

**Author's Note:**

> omg, i love how well received the first two parts were, and im so happy you guys really like it. Like it means a lot to see messages from you all! I'm surprised the angst is even pulling you guys in. 
> 
> This one is rated M cause there will be smut (cue applause and screaming) but its only going to make matters worse. I may just keep updating this one specific one, but i think i like the one shot drabbles more.
> 
> Please if this is your first time reading this, read the first to installments into the soulbound series or you'll be confused fam.

"I wish I didn't doubt it   
I wish I never ever told you all about it  
But I just had to let you know   
I never meant to hurt you though  
I had all my motives   
I didn't know they wouldn't mix with your emotions   
I just had to reach my goals   
Never knew I need you though, so"

* * *

 

Betty was spring and summer, sunlight, flowers, the smell of hope and the sound of laughter. she was home, comfort and safety. The light to the dark.   
  
But if Betty was all that, then Veronica had to be fall and winter. Chill crisp air, changing leaves and heavy jackets. The frost, dark chilling nights and the cloudy mornings. Intrigue, mysterious and dangerous.   
  
He thought of Veronica when it snowed. When he had to drive carefully lest he destroy the car he’d been saving up for. Betty always in the passenger seat chewing on a pencil as she jotted down notes for the paper. Yet when the sun shined and the snow melted he still thought of Veronica; when winter eased away to make room for spring and birds were chirping. Despite Betty’s warm spring laughter and hot summer touchers, he found himself wanting the chill biting cold of winter on a clear midnight.  

He writes mysteries and Spins tales of intrigue. He takes noir-esque pictures of girls with dark hair and dark eyes. He makes sure to apply cover up every morning and night.   
  
When a bowl slips from Betty’s soapy hands to shatter on the floor he thinks of tears running down a pretty pale face. He thinks about the shattering of the bowl; how parts of it scattered across the floor and how Bety neatly sweeps it away. How she throws it in the trash and remarks offhandedly that she didn't even like it anyway.

That it was a bowl she was gifted that she didn't even want.

He thinks that maybe with some super glue and a lot of time he could put it together. Still the same old bowl, but far stronger.

He rubs the words under his ribs, his fingers digging into the skin and regret seeping into his bones like New York rain into his leather jacket. He thinks that if things were different then maybe he’d have a different type of happiness. But he loves Betty he reminds himself.

Whatever ache that sets into his chest is ignored when he curls tighter around her and thinks  _‘this is love’._ That despite the fact they're platonic they can have everything and more. Because they chose each other and the universe didn't force them into this.

He doesn't want to go back to Riverdale, but Betty is shoving clothing into a bag and talking loudly on the phone with Kevin when Archie calls his own. He doesn't have a special ringtone or anything, but he wakes with dread and the same dread flows through him when his phone vibrates on the kitchen table next to his laptop.  
  
“Her dad died today.” he says. His voice is unkind and harsh; exactly what he knows Jughead deserves.

He doesn't need to clarify on who the ‘her’ in mention is; its written between the lines and spoken in the static that crackles between their words. Jughead wants to say that he doesn't care; but he does. Despite it all he can feel her pain through the distance and he's sure she's keeping face.  
  
Being the perfect ice queen.

He likes to think he’s helped her become the strong woman she is today, but when she starts throwing things at him he’s at a loss for words. He’s broken his fair share of items, but never people. When he’d dropped his phone in the subway and shattered the screen; Betty had remarked on his carelessness and he can’t help but agree.  
  
He truly is careless.

He tells Archie that he’ll be at the funeral and wake to give his condolences; he never says he’s going to their apartment.  
  
Her Apartment. He doesn't occupy space there anymore.

_‘I deserve this.’_ he thinks when she starts throwing things. That this is the start of karma having its way with him for discarding the choice the universe had made for him. For who else to love a broken boy such as himself then a shattered girl?

He’d read once that the heart was the most resilient; seeing as it breaks multiple times and still withstands pain. He wonders how often he’s broken her heart. How often he’s destroyed the work she's put into making it whole again. How many times does his name flitter through her mind through the day.

He tries not to think about how often he thinks about her.

He blames the universe. Especially when Archie is flinging open the door to the apartment and snatching veronica from his arms. Shielding her from the onslaught of his words. He’s sure the doorman from downstairs called Archie the moment he arrived on the premises; that or the noise complaint pushed him to call.

Jughead feels irritation bloom in his chest but it's quickly overwhelmed by anger. Anger that Archie would just show up and take her from him; protect her from him. As if he’d actually hurt her.  
  
He’d never hurt his soulmate.

His father told him once that love was a horribly destructive thing. Not at all gentle; and sometimes gritty and possessive. That it was like teeth; not meant to be careful or gentle at all.

He doesn't love Veronica Lodge he reminds himself. He resents her and wishes he could remove her stupid words from his skin.

“How the knife loves the heart.” he says then, and Veronica hisses at him to get out. Archie has to hold her back in a vice grip when she grabs a lamp and throws it at the wall behind him. He grabs his jacket and slides it on as he steps out the door.

He can hear Archie trying to calm her down, telling her breaking things won't make him come back. Won't make either of them come back.  But she wails and continues to destroy things.   
  
“He didn't even say goodbye.” she sobs brokenly. Jughead isn't sure if she's talking about her father or him.

He hopes she’s speaking about her father, but he knows better than to lie to himself.

* * *

  
"maybe I love you  
maybe im just kinda of bored  
it is what is is  
till it aint, anymore."

 

* * *

 

He sees the sign to Riverdale a year and a half later.   
  
He’s got his own apartment in Brooklyn and Betty crashes on his couch only when she’s pulling all-nighters and needs him to proofread. She started seeing some yuppie from work and Jughead thinks she seems lighter.    
  
Kevin calls them wanting to arrange some high-school get together slash Christmas party and Betty is jumping on the bandwagon so fast he doesn't realize he's in the passenger seat of her buggy till he sees New York in the rearview.   
  
She’s excited to go home and see their friends as well as her Family. Jughead wonders if crashing on Archie's couch is just begging for problems.     
  
They’d left Riverdale last time without a scene; saying their goodbyes to the Cooper family and Kevin. Betty had wanted to see Veronica regardless and Jughead had smartly turned her away from the idea.   
  
“She needs to be alone.” he’d said.   
  
“She probably needs her soulmate.” She’d remarked then as she started packing her things.   
  
“It's a good thing Archie is there. I can't even imagine what she’s going through.”

All he can think is that Archie being there for her is great. He’s her soulmate. More of one then he’s ever been.    
  
He’s reminded of Veronica Lodge when they approach Riverdale and all he can see is the light blanket of snow that covers it. He’s a smarter driver at this point.   
  
He knows snow can kill.

Despite the fact that him and Betty don't have the same relationship they had the last time they visited; they still bunk in her bedroom. He takes to the floor like a gentleman on a blow mattress and listens to her gush about her excitement for a winter formal get together.   
  
He thinks it's a stupid thing to get excited over a dance compared to Christmas with family and friends; but then again who is he to judge? Betty helps him loop on his tie, but jughead drags the knot onto the tie down, letting it hang loosely. He knows he won't keep the damn thing on all night, but he appreciates the work she’s putting into his appearance. He’s rolling the cuffs to his red dress-shirt to his elbows when she emerges from the bathroom in a beautiful pastel pink dress.    
  
He’s reminded why he fell in love with her all those years ago and why it might not have been  love exactly. But Betty brought out the good in him these last few years and he thinks maybe that's why he chose her from the start till now. He feels shitty for blaming destiny and the universe for choosing the time when things happen; but he can't keep going with the knowledge that maybe they aren't as perfect for each other as he’d hoped.

Betty remarks on how the halls of Riverdale High haven't actually changed and Jughead can't help but agree. They’re still fucking ugly. And he still hates the school.   
  
They’re greeted by Kevin who is a flurry of hugs and kisses. He starts small talk with Betty and shoots Jughead one or two polite smiles before he leaves to find the other members of their ragtag high school group. Betty wants to dance and all he wants to do is nurse a flask that Reggie shoved into his hands before disappearing into the crowd behind some girl.

Cheryl gives some speech on the state about remembrance, you and friendship when he sees her. Dressed in all black like the last time he saw her. He thinks it’s a fitting color. Probably one of his favorites on her alongside dark purple; but the strapless ensemble makes him see her as Vivien Leigh. Her hair all pinned in curls, and her eyes as expressive as ever.    
  
She receives Cheryl from the stage with cheek kisses and laughter; her body relaxing into Archie's arms when he wraps them around her.

_ ‘The universe knows no bounds’ _  He thinks. It placed them together and goddamn was it going to see them together. He feels a little sick but he attributes it to what he’s sure is tequila and not the fact Cheryl makes eye contact with him and Sneers. When Archie turns he feels his stomach fall into a pit.   
  
When Veronica turns he wants to Vomit.    
  
But they both look right past him to see Betty who practically runs the length of the gym to throw herself into them. Veronica Laughs and falls into Cheryl who in turn smiles.    
  
He does what he’s sure most girls do at times like these; catch up with one another.    
  
Archie is holding a mug of punch that smells spiked and walks at a leisurely pace toward him.   
  
“How ya been?” he claps a heavy hand down onto Jughead’s shoulder, and Jughead can't help but wince at the impact. Archie has stayed pretty stocky in his youth, looking very much like the quarterback he was back in highschool. Just taller.   
  
“Working and whatnot. The usual. Yourself? Didn't expect you’d just stay in Riverdale.” Archie shrugs and takes a sip of his drink before launching into a paraphrased story. His dad got hurt and when Archie took over the company he took over taking care of his dad. He got business all around Riverdale and a few cities out.    
  
“It’s good stable money.” He says then. He speaks like he’s older like he’s seen some real shitty things; and Jughead can't help but think he has.    
  
In all his 23 years of living, Archie’s seen some shit. The Body of Jason Blossom was the start of it, his father being shot, and seeing his platonic soulbond throwing antiques at his best friend was probably pretty bad on his list.    
  
But Archie seems old. Old in the way that some people get when they gain knowledge that most people don't. Maybe it's because he stayed in touch with his father and roots, or maybe it's because he’s always been in tune with people.    
  
“I hear you’ve started medical school. Physical therapy doesn't seem like it’s up your alley.”    
  
“Football destroyed my dad's knees Jug, it's killed my shoulder. I figured if I was ever going to go into medicine it’d be sports Medicine.” Jughead can’t argue with that logic. Archie excuses himself with a smile and Jughead loses sight of him in the crowd.   
  
He feels his throat itching and his skin getting tighter, so he pats the pocket of his dress pants to feel the few cigarettes he’d shoved in there earlier and takes this as the perfect time to exit.    
  
His dress shoes are loud on the tile of the hallway, and he can hear Dancing queen playing from the Gym. Its muffled and the bass somehow still manages to rattle the lockers. He puts a cigarette in his mouth and lights it, watching how the lights from the gym dance along the dark hallway as he makes his way outside.    
  
The chill of the winter air sobers him a little, and between inhales from his cigarette, he takes a sip from the flask. He has the door propped open with a textbook he finds discarded on the floor next to the lockers. He’s flicking the ash onto the concrete outside of the door when a flash of color catches his attention.    
  
Veronica is holding the skirts of dress as she walks along the length of the bleachers. The clicking of her heels echoes in the quiet night, and he can see that she’s more interested in the footsteps she makes in the snow then she is about catching a cold. She’s wrapped in a thick black shawl, and Jughead finds himself thinking about just how beautiful winter is.

He knows he should just snuff out the cigarette he’s smoking and close the door. Act as if he didn't see her out here playing in the snow like a child. But he’s taking another drink from the flash and shoving it in his pocket as he makes his way toward her.   
  
She hears the crunching of snow beneath him before she see’s him. Her gaze shifts from curiosity to disappointment so fast that Jughead is slightly taken aback.    
  
“Veronica.” He calls out to her, hoping to catch and keep her attention. He wants to apologize, wants to ask her all about her life and how she’s doing. But she beats him to it.   
  
“Jughead”-she says his name amicably and nods her head in acknowledgment-”You enjoying your night?” She looks like she’d rather be anywhere than in the same space as him, but she stops walking to give him her full attention.    
  
_ ‘Theres nothing here to throw.’ _  He thinks bitterly before shoving a hand in his pocket and blowing out a puff of smoke.   
  
“It's as boring as I thought it would be. Yourself?” She shrugs and takes care as she steps down the bleachers. She stops a few steps before him and purses her lips slightly as if she wants to respond but isn't sure exactly what to say.   
  
“You aren't doing well at all, are you?” He says then, the cigarette between his index and middle finger as he speaks. He can feel the unease and nervousness in the space between them and he isn't sure if it's flowing off her or himself.   
  
“I feel like the world is collapsing on me. But that's not something you really bring up in public.” She pulls the shawl tighter around herself and turns her head back to the building. She teeters slightly where she’s standing, and Jughead thinks that for a moment she might be Tipsy.    
  
Or at least a little bit buzzed.    
  
“Well considering your Da-”   
  
“What are you even doing here Jughead.” She cuts him off, her attention still on the building. The lights from the gym bleeding out on the field and casting some glow about them as if it were the northern lights.    
  
“You can't just keep showing up and expecting everything to fall into place.”   
  
“I'm not here about us.” he says then and Veronica turns to look at him with a raised brow before nodding.    
  
“I didn't even imply you were. I’m talking about Riverdale. Everyone knows Jughead. Betty is the only one not in the loop.” He feels the chill of the air settle into his bones, but her gaze is by far the coldest thing he’s ever had the displeasure of coming across.    
  
She reminds him of some sort of ice witch, standing amongst snow and sleet as if it isn't bothering her. The wind whips past them, and her hair somehow manages to stay in perfect form.    
  
He hates it. But he supposes it’s better then her screaming and throwing things.   
  
“He’s still my Friend.” He’s grasping for straws and he knows it. There's no way Archie and Kevin aren't just being polite in public for the sake of keeping up appearances.    
  
“And my soulmate.”   
  
“Platonic-Bond.” he corrects her, smoke bellowing past his lips.   
  
“You didn't seem to care about the difference before.”    
  
“I don't.” She scoffs and starts to walk back toward the building when he calls after her.   
  
“What can I do to make it right? I can't just suddenly decide we should be together Ronnie. It's been a year, isn't time supposed to heal all wounds?”   
  
“The scars are still there Jughead. I can't forget what happened and I can't forget how I felt.” She’s walking toward the building when he realizes that there are some things he can't fix.   
  
Dropping a bowl on the floor and willing for it to miraculously come together isn't plausible in the least. He feels horrible. Not because he broke her heart; hearts break all the time.   
  
But that he’s saddled to such an unforgiving person. He’s pissed.   
  
“I didn't ask to be your soulmate.” He shouts after her, his cigarette discarded to fizzle out in the snow as he stomps after her. His long strides taking him to where she stands quickly. Veronica’s eyes flare indignantly and she opens her mouth to scream what he assumes is obscenities when he cuts her off.   
  
“You keep putting this pressure on me, like because the universe decided we were supposed to get together that it had to happen then. That it has to happen now. I won't just wake up and think  _ ‘oh my god, i'm in love with Veronica Lodge’ _  you know damn well that's not how life works and yet you keep shoving it in my face, shoving it in everyone's face as if that gives you a right to mope around and be sad.”   
  
“I have  **_ne-_ ** ”   
  
“Poor me. My soulmate doesn't love me because I came too late, he loves someone else and I expect him to just drop everything and be with me!” He flings his hands up in the air with such dramatic flair that Veronica Flinches back.   
  
“Boo-fucking-Hoo Veronica. Not everyone is Romeo and Juliett. Not everyone gets a fucking epic love story like you want. Stop trying to shove your misguided childhood dreams of a perfect love and marriage onto me just because we are soulmates.”   
  
“You think I want a romance with you? Are you  _ fucking retarded?” _  She’s beyond astonished at the words he’s saying and Veronica wants to write it off all do to him probably being drunk.    
  
“This isn't about you and how the universe gave me a fucking shit Soulmate. It's not even about how you didn't give us a chance. You love Betty? Good. Marry her, have Babies I don't give a flying fuck. This is about how you randomly decide to drop in and fucking kick everything up in my face.” She points an accusatory finger toward him and takes a step forward.    
  
“It's about how you, Forsythe Pendleton the Third, are a fucking disgusting human being who can't let anyone be happy if it's not by his grace.”   
  
“Oh, because I went around blabbering about who my soulmate is and tugging on heartstrings.  _ ‘My soulmate is in love with someone else, oh Archie hold me. Oh Kevin, wipe my tears away as I work myself into a grave cause i'm so melancholy.’  _ You fucking told people intimate shit and reaped the benefits of the whole town hating and ostracizing me. You do stupid shit like driving around without a seatbelt and drinking too much, pushing Betty away you are so goddamn selfish. You fucking attention whore.”   
  
“I'm an attention whore? Are you serious right now? Who fucking shows up to a funeral where they aren't wanted, pops up in a fucking home that isn't their own, then to a fucking highschool reunion and finds the one person who doesn't want to talk to them!? And i'm an attention whore? Do you hear yourself?!”

 

“You are a petty, selfish, manipulative, psychoti-”   
  
“You are a man.”- She says.-”A average, lazy, boring, cowardly, fearing man. You never loved Betty and we all knew it; even she knew it. She stopped you from turning into your Father and you hate her for it. You hate that that’s all your bond ever was. Her keeping you from turning into a shirt person and You’re mad that I could actually have a loving life with Archie and you’d be alone.”

 

He’s reminded of Veronica and how she isn't winter and fall. She’s a dark summer. She’s honeyed and sulky, full of thunderstorms and horribly unkept promises. She’s shadowy, cinematic, and melancholy. A passionately felt trance of detachment and horrible decisions in the middle of the night. She’s the feeling you get when you stand out of the sunroof as the car speeds down a tunnel. The sounds of muffled music playing from another room as you make horrible mistakes.

 

He wants to grab her by the arms and shake her; shake some sense into her goddamn head so she can understand the pain he feels every time he looks at her. How he feels horrible that he doesn't love her and disgusted at the fact everyone keeps pressuring him into doing something he has no intention of doing.  
  
So he does grab her, his hands gripping her upper arms tightly but instead of pushing her away and shaking her, he pulls her closer. And oh how those damned red lips of hers remind him of pomegranates; probably the same pomegranates that Hades had gifted to Persephone without her knowing.    
  
He thinks this is how all the old gods felt when one of their own fell for a mortal. He thinks she must feel so powerful at this moment when his lips meet her own. But their kiss is anything but gentle.   
  
It's painful, full of clashing teeth and lip biting. Her hands are gripping the sides of his face, her nails scraping the back of his head as his own shifts to grab a handful of her own hair and twist it painfully into his grip. She gasps and arches into him and he takes that moment to delve his tongue into her own mouth. Tasting the sweetness of the punch and the tartness of her anger.   
  
He bet’s she can taste the tequila on his tongue, the smoke etched into the caverns of his mouth and the tanginess of regret. He can hear her heart shattering in his hands, but he thinks he can find it in himself to stick around to put it back together again. Every fiber of his being is screaming, chanting her name. His skin is humming with energy and his feels so damn  _hot_.  
  
 _‘You’re in my veins.’_  He thinks, it echoes through his skull and settles deep into the marrow of his bones. He takes a step forward and shoves her into the brick wall next to the door. His hands are gripping the skirt of her dress and shoving it out of the way. The silk is hot in his hands when he peels it from her thighs, a shiver easing its way down his spine when she lifts a leg up and wraps it around his waist.   
  
She sighs so perfectly, her hips jutting out to meet his own, rolling against the growing erection in his pants and drawing out a perfect groan from his bruised lips.   
  
He thinks that some things are so horrible they need to be hidden right after they become visible. His hands mapping out her thighs and hips before resting on the garter belt that holds up her stockings; her teeth biting his lip enough to draw blood. He isn't sure if that's whats smeared across their lips or her lipstick, but his mouth is on her neck all hot and harsh. He bites into her neck, sucking, scraping his teeth across the expansion of her neck and revelling in mewls that leave her lips.  
  
The way her nails dig into his shoulder and her back arches when his fingers dance tantalizing close to the space between her thighs he knows she just wants him to touch.   
  
He knows that some things are too horrible to seen except very slowly or in very small amounts; or else they are too beautiful. He feels like she’s carving away bits of him, hiding places in the valley of his ribs and in between his vertebrae and shoulder blades. His fingers slide past the eerily soft cotton of her underwear and suddenly he’s  _inside her._    
  
She gasps out his name, her hips rolling into his hand as she presses herself against him. Her hands finding their way to the buttons of his trousers somehow. Despite the fact she can't see exactly what she’s doing, he finds her actions elegant all the same.  
  
Very becoming of the Lodge Princess turned Queen.   
  
Her hand grips him tightly, surely. As if reminding him that the universe had deemed him hers and hers alone. His head lolling forward in a strangled groan when she tugs at him roughly.   
  
The things people do for a love like this are ugly, mad, full of sweat and regret. He thinks that a love like this burns and maims a person; because he can feel it twisting him from the inside out. It’s a monstrous sort of feeling that consumes him.   
  
He pulls the bodice of her dress down, a smirk spreading across his lips with the knowledge that she wasn't wearing a bra. But he knows far better than to comment on something as trivial as that. Especially when he has two fingers inside her and she’s quite literally jerking him off. His thumb runs over a perfectly rosy nipple and the way she arches into him makes him think of art and poetry.   
  
He thinks this is what the great writers saw when they described maidens with ink on parchment. That something as beautiful as this had to have been bestowed upon them for them to even attempt to create its likeliness to share with others. Her lips are on his own again, but far more gentle than before. The metallic taste of blood is still there, lingering between their mouths and coated on their lips.   
  
She’s pressing herself further against the wall when he slides his hands beneath her thighs and easily lifts her up. He takes a moment to pause and simply look at her. Her hair disheveled and the curls matted to her forehead; her chest heaving in an attempt to gulp down air and her breath coming out hot and fanning against him.   
  
She has a hand gripping his shoulder and the other one wrapped around his neck. Her eyes are hard and hazy, yet somehow still focused on his own.

  
“ _I want-”_  He stops. His voice is far quieter than he thought it would be, and her thumb soothingly rubs against his neck. Against the scratch marks he’s sure she’s left there.   
  
“Is it here?” She whispers, her fingers just barely brushing against his chest and he nods. She hesitates for a second before unbuttoning his shirt; her fingers resting where her words are that she can't see.   
  
“Does it help?” He knows she’s referring to the fact he covers it up, but he can't bring himself to comment. He feels shame and embarrassment blossom in his chest. She licks her thumb and rubs it roughly at the skin till her word are visible.   
  
“Oh the way the knife loves the heart.” She whispers, her lips brushing against his own just as he slides into her. His fingers tighten on her thighs and he stills his movement just enough to rest his forehead against her own.  
  
“I think we’re soulmates because of how frequently we’ll destroy each other.” He replies, and Veronica releases a shaky breath. He presses his lips onto her own, hoping to muffle the words that are sure to follow when he snaps his hips against her own.  
  
And god does she sound like a symphony to his ears. He knows she’s trying to keep quiet, but he assures her quietly that there's no way anyone can hear her over the party. But she's biting into his shoulder as he drives himself into her. Her slick heat wrapping around him, a sure statement that they had to be made for each other.   
  
She arches into his body and his name leaves her lips like a mantra. She chokes on the chill of the air, on her moans, on  _him._  Her breathing shaky and her thoughts are shotty at best. She thinks that this is a horrible idea, that this is only going to make things harder for her in the long run; that's he’s just the right amount of  _wrong._ That this is her soulmate that the Universe deemed fit for her and her alone and she feels herself growing hotter with the knowledge.   
  
Feels it build into the pit of her stomach and tighten with such heat she feels like she’s going to explode with it all.   
  
And she does.  
  
She throws her head back and she feels him trying to keep it together.   
  
 _“Ronnie.”_  he gasps into her neck, his lips leaving kisses and bites. He kisses her sloppily when he comes and she thinks that this is the greatest thing in the world. Of all the art she’s seen and places she’s gone, she thinks this is the best.   
  
His hands are on her sides, rubbing them slowly when he speaks.  
  
“Our souls are going to fall apart any moment now.” He applies slight pressure on her right side where his words go down her side in his quick and sharp script. She helps him to slide out of her, and the warmth he leaves behind recedes like the summer with the approach of fall.   
  
She helps him button his shirt and he helps her to pull her dress back; draping her shawl about her shoulders and tucking it about her neck. He opens his mouth and she shakes her head.  
  
“If we talk about it I'll cry. So it's a secret.”   
  
“Don't say such sweet things to me.” he whispers, his lips brushing against her own again despite the grave meaning her words hold.  
  
“You shouldn't be so kind to me.” She says, her hands busy with fixing her hair so that the curls rest about her neck but the disheveled look is gone for something more along the lines of elegance.   
  
“You’ll make me start thinking of things that aren't true.” She laughs bitterly at her own words. The air about them feels heavy and thinks for a moment that he’s made a grave mistake. She slides past his arms and opens the door to the building; leaving him in the chill air.   
  
He takes a few minutes to compose himself before stepping back into the building and making his way into the gym. Betty catches sight of him and rushes toward him, huffing about how she's been looking all over for him and that he shouldnt just dissapere like that. When she steps clsoer to him she smells the smoke off his clothes and scrunches her nose.  
  
"Disgusting." she says. And he cant help but agree. He is disgusting. 

**Author's Note:**

> so the song quotes are high all the time by the neighbourhood and it is what it is by kacey mugraves.
> 
> I wrote this in the same room as my father and this was so fucking weird i was worried he'd start reading over my shoulder.
> 
> Anywho i wanted to touch on how Jughead felt about all of this and how his emotions went from hating soulbounds to how he feels pressured by everyone to just go all willy-nilly into his bond with Veronica despite the fact he isnt ready too and doesnt want too. I wanted to touch on that and his feelings and i hope it made sense.


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